Revenge
by RoxKean
Summary: O'Brien investigates Nikita's murder--but is she dead?


REVENGE (Under the Influence Spoiler)  
  
With the welt of Nikita's slap still visible on his face, and her insults still hanging frozen in the air, Michael stepped further into Madeline's office.  
  
Madeline had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but didn't enlighten him as to the cause of Nikita's violent outburst. Michael was sure it had something to do with her current assignment.  
  
If he'd been alone, he would have sighed. He had tried to get another profile approved, but Operations was insistent on using Nikita. As a last resort, Michael had talked Madeline into introducing a drug into Nikita's system that would blunt her natural shame at having to possibly sleep with the mark.  
  
While Michael knew Nikita was no innocent, he also knew that her sexual liaisons were always based on an emotional attraction. He only knew of two men with whom she had slept since being in Section, Gray Wellman and himself.  
  
As Section operatives went, Nikita was a close to a virgin as it got. Sleeping with an enemy went well beyond her personal code of ethics and even Madeline acknowledged that Nikita was not valentine material for that very reason  
  
"She found out about the drug?" Michael rendered a guess.  
  
Madeline nodded.  
  
"How?" Michael asked quietly.  
  
"She didn't say." Madeline returned calmly, then added, "Perhaps using the drug was a mistake. Nikita's going to have to learn to control her emotions. Sooner or later this profile will come up again."  
  
"Your own psyche profile of Nikita notes that valentine assignments are not the best use of her talents." Michael defended  
  
"Not the best use, yes, however, we both knew that this was going to happen sooner or later. Michael, you can't protect her. Quit trying!"  
  
Michael face became an expressionless mask, a sign Madeline recognized as internal strife. It was a unique defense mechanism, outwardly showing no emotion, while internally seething with it. It had taken many months of observation to begin to understand Michael's talent for internalization. Madeline wished it were something that could be taught, as it seemed to allow him to cope with almost anything.  
  
"When do you estimate this current mission will come to termination?" Madeline asked changing the subject slightly.  
  
"Within the next twelve hours."  
  
"Good. If we are successful, then Nikita's problems will be moot. Is there, anything else?"  
  
"No."  
  
* * * "Mission terminated. Kurt and Simon have been cancelled and we have the biological warheads." Michael said softly into his cell phone. "Send housekeeping."  
  
"Good work," Operations said quietly. He rested his hand briefly on Birkoff's shoulder, which made the young computer op look over at his boss with a modicum of surprise. Operations' expression was sad despite his compliment and he looked much older than he had only a day before. Of course, yesterday he hadn't known his only son had been murdered.  
  
"I'll pass it on, sir." Birkoff responded gently.  
  
Operations nodded absently and withdrew his hand. Birkoff watched him leave, and felt an emotion rare in Section-pity.  
  
* * *  
  
Nikita wrestled angrily with her keys before finding the right one that would open her apartment door. When she finally got the door unlocked, she shoved it open, entered, then slammed it behind herself.  
  
Mission completed. She sneered at the thought. Completed at her expense!  
  
Of all the things that Michael had pulled over the years, using her love for him to brainwash her into sleeping with another man, was the sickest and the most hurtful!  
  
Had he ever cared for her? Was he so depraved that he could no longer understand the difference between right and wrong? Did he belong to Section so completely, that he would even sacrifice what they felt for each other? Evidently, he could.  
  
Drugged. She shook her head in disbelief. Drugged and programmed to love a terrorist!  
  
Nikita stared at a piece of wall art and was amazed to again see Michael's face. The drug had not yet worn off! Furious, she ripped the mocking piece of art off the wall and shredded it.  
  
* * *  
  
Back in a darkened room in Section, a pair of eyes watched with interest as Nikita destroyed the artwork.  
  
"Enough?" Asked a voice.  
  
"Yes. You can shut down surveillance. The test is complete."  
  
* * *  
  
Michael stared at his computer screen for several minutes before he was aware of doing so. His thoughts were on Nikita. Part of him wanted desperately to defend himself over the use of the drugs, while another part argued, "What's the use?"  
  
Nikita always thought the worst of him, and he couldn't argue that she had no good reason.  
  
The road to hell was paved with good intentions.  
  
Still, he needed to talk to her. She'd left Section before the debrief had been scheduled. He had to call her in for the meeting.  
  
Reluctantly, he opened his cell phone and tapped in her number. At least, all he would have to say to her was, "Josephine."  
  
The cell phone rang several times with no response. Michael redialed. There was still no answer.  
  
He huffed a sigh and clicked the phone shut in his hand. Angry or not, she knew she was supposed to respond. Perhaps this was her way of drawing him to her so she could have her say. Well, he owed her that, he supposed. He'd let her have her say.  
  
He folded up his laptop and left for Nikita's apartment.  
  
* * *  
  
"Michael ?"  
  
Michael turned to see Mick Schtoppel standing just inside his doorway.  
  
"I don't think she's home. I knocked a while ago and got no answer."  
  
Michael knocked, anyway. "Ni-ki-ta?"  
  
No one came to the door.  
  
"See? Told you." Mick said smugly.  
  
Michael ignored him and reached into his pocket for his keys. Fitting one into the lock, he opened the door and went inside.  
  
Mick, expecting fireworks between the two top operatives, of one kind or another, couldn't curb his curiosity. He carefully tiptoed in Nikita's apartment behind Michael-just in time to hear an agonized scream.  
  
A man's scream. Michael's scream!  
  
Michael backed down the short staircase leading up to Nikita's bedroom, turned and stumbled to his knees at Mick's feet.  
  
Mick had never seen such a look of complete horror on anyone's face, much less a level Five Operative, such as Michael.  
  
"My God, what is it?" Mick asked.  
  
Michael sat on his knees, wide-eyed and stunned beyond the ability to speak.  
  
With morbid curiosity, Mick crept up the steps and peered into Nikita's bedroom.  
  
"Christ! Oh Christ!" Schtoppel, tumbled back down the stairs as Michael had before him and violently lost the contents of his stomach.  
"Now, damn it! Now!" Schtoppel shrieked over his phone. "There's blood everywhere!" He started sobbing.  
  
Birkoff ran horrified into Madeline's office.  
  
She looked up in annoyance "What is it Birkoff, I'm busy!"  
  
He tried to maintain his composure, but ended up breaking down.  
  
"N-nikita-she's dead."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I have Mick Schtoppel on line-he's in Nikita's apartment. He says someone's murdered Nikita-chopped her into pieces!"  
  
"Impossible," Madeline countered in confusion. She had just seen Nikita on surveillance not three hours ago. She pounded on her keyboard. "Allen, I need you to check surveillance on Nikita's apartment now!  
  
Madeline first view was of Nikita's living room and Michael on his knees, on the floor, sitting perfectly still. The next view made her gasp aloud. In the middle of Nikita's bed was a headless, nude torso, lying in a pool of blood.  
  
* * *  
  
"Michael?" Madeline knelt at his side and gently cupped his face in her hand.  
  
Michael refocused his eyes and looked at her.  
  
"Yes?" He said softly.  
  
"Are you all right?" Madeline noticed he was visibly shaking.  
  
Michael looked at her strangely, as if he hadn't understood her words.  
  
"Walter-he's in shock," she said looking over at the older man.  
  
Walter nodded, grief-stricken himself. He had been forbidden to go upstairs to see the body. He knelt and wrapped a blanket around Michael's shoulders.  
  
Madeline called over her shoulder at the man standing in the doorway.  
  
"I need to know what happened here, O'Brien. I want the lab to go over this apartment with a microscope. Find out whether this was a random act or someone's first strike against Section."  
  
"Ah, Jesus." O'Brien gasped as he arrived at the top of the stairs. He turned and dropped like a rock onto one of the steps. Holding his head in his hands, he struggled to keep from being sick.  
  
O'Brien had been called in from Section training to investigate. His skills as a former police detective made him the logical choice, as no real police could be called in.  
  
Three more operatives arrived from medlab, along with a forensics photographer and evidence gatherer.  
  
"Get pictures of everything and be careful not to touch anything," O'Brien barked at them.  
  
'Forget you knew her,' O'Brien told himself hopelessly.  
  
Even though Nikita had been responsible for O'Brien's forcible recruitment into Section, he no longer held any bitterness towards her. Now that he had been in Section a while, he realized she had had no choice. She had been merciful, in fact. Section would have had him cancelled-had she not interfered and given him back his life.  
  
There was an expletive shouted from the bathroom and O'Brien bolted up the stairs.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Found her head," Came a weak reply, "and a note."  
  
O'Brien steeled himself to step inside to look.  
  
"Bastard sliced her face off," said the tech, pushing past to get a breath of fresh air.  
  
"Where's the note?" O'Brien asked.  
  
"On the wall."  
  
O'Brien read four words: 'Two Down, Madeline! Kessler'  
  
O'Brien frowned, then looked at the partially denuded skull.  
  
"Tell the lab I want blood and DNA run immediately," he shouted down to his technicians.  
  
A moment later O'Brien appeared at the top of the stairs. "Madeline? Do you know anyone named Kessler?"  
  
Madeline blinked, which was the first time she seemed to have any reaction to the situation in which she found herself.  
  
"Kessler? Gregor Kessler?"  
  
"I have no idea about his first name, but someone has sent you a message," O'Brien said quietly, gesturing towards the bathroom.  
  
Madeline made the short trip to view the missive for herself.  
  
O'Brien watched her face go pale as she read. Odd, he thought to himself, considering the carnage in which she was standing. To the blood and dismembered body of a colleague she seemed immune-but a four-word message left her faint?  
  
"Who's Kessler?"  
  
"An old enemy," She finally responded tight-lipped.  
  
"If I'm to solve this case, I'll need to know more than that," he complained.  
  
"Gather what you can here. I'll tell you more when you brief me this evening."  
  
"One last thing, before you go," O'Brien said to delay her. "What do you think he means? Two down? Nikita and who else? Are we missing anyone else?"  
  
Madeline shook her head. "I don't know, but if this is Kessler, it could mean a lot of things, or it could mean nothing at all." She turned sharply on her heel and left.  
  
O'Brien scrubbed his face with his hands, "Shit!" He said to no one in particular.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well?" Madeline pounced upon O'Brien as soon as the haggard operative stepped into her office. She sat ramrod straight in her chair, her arms folded high against her chest.  
  
O'Brien raised an eyebrow and cocked an amused grin at her. "Can I sit down, first?"  
  
Madeline's eyes narrowed, but she didn't comment. O'Brien was good material, but he had little use for Section politics or protocol.  
  
"I have some good news. The body we found was not Nikita's."  
  
O'Brien watched for a reaction and Madeline didn't disappoint. Her eyes shuttered closed for a moment before she asked the inevitable question, "Whose was it?"  
  
O'Brien reached inside his gray trench coat, removed a photograph and tossed it onto Madeline's desk.  
  
"Her name was, ironically enough, Madeline Guilot, a French prostitute, and sometimes drug runner. Same body type as Nikita, but no beauty, which is why I suppose her killer decided to remove her face," O'Brien said with bitter candor.  
  
"Was there a connection between this woman and Section?"  
  
"Not that I can find. My gut says she died because she was a body double for Nikita." "Or because her name was Madeline," Madeline commented coldly.  
  
O'Brien's expression hoped for more, but Madeline waved him off, "Finish your report!"  
  
He chewed on his bottom lip a moment, then took out a small notebook from a breast pocket.  
  
"When we finished assembling all the body parts, we found an interesting anomaly. An extra finger. A man's forefinger, to be exact."  
  
"Whose?"  
  
"Does Stephen Wolfe ring a bell?"  
  
That got a reaction! Madeline actually gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. For a fraction of a second, O'Brien thought she was going to be physically ill.  
  
"I take that was a yes?"  
  
Madeline got her composure back and got to her feet.  
  
"Who else have you reported this to?"  
  
"No one yet-although I did let a few Section ops know it wasn't Nikita we found."  
  
"Anything else?" Madeline asked absently, her mind seeming to leave her body behind.  
  
O'Brien sighed, "Just that we found drug residue on the doorknob to Nikita's apartment. Some kind of designer hallucinogen. We also found some in Michael's system-we think he absorbed it through his skin when he entered Nikita's apartment."  
  
Madeline's attention returned as she commented, "That would explain his reaction, then."  
  
O'Brien gave her a strange look. "What do you mean, his reaction? His reaction was pretty damn normal, if you ask me. He thought he'd just seen Nikita hacked to pieces!"  
  
Madeline smiled. "You don't know Michael well. If you did, you would know his reaction was out of character."  
  
Just as she'd finished speaking, the object of their conversation entered the room.  
  
Dressed in black, completely composed from the last time O'Brien had seen him, Michael stepped towards Madeline's desk.  
  
"How are you feeling?" She asked him with a faint smile.  
  
"Fine." Michael replied formally. He held himself rigidly, his hands clasped together in front of him.  
  
"Have you heard the news?" Madeline asked, her brown eyes watching him closely.  
  
"What news?"  
  
"The body in Nikita's apartment, wasn't Nikita."  
  
Michael blinked slowly, but only once. "Yes. I read the medical report."  
  
O'Brien leaned back in his chair and scratched the back of his head with one hand. Watching these two was like watching Russian chess masters assessing each other.  
  
"Please continue, Mr. O'Brien," Madeline nodded to him.  
  
"That's pretty much it, for now. We still haven't figured out how the murderer got into the apartment building, but we suspect a deliveryman of some kind. There was a witness that said they saw carpet being delivered, but everyone in the building has denied getting any new carpeting."  
  
"Cleopatra." Michael said with a look toward Madeline.  
  
She smiled and nodded.  
  
"What do you mean?" O'Brien frowned.  
  
"Cleopatra had herself rolled in a carpet and smuggled into her lover." Madeline enlightened him. "Ms Guilot no doubt was brought in the same way."  
  
"And was butchered on the premises," O'Brien finished with a sneer. "And no doubt, Nikita left in the carpet as well?"  
  
"That would be my guess, yes." Madeline added.  
  
"Okay, I've played your twenty questions," O'Brien said sarcastically, "Now, answer one of mine. Who the hell is Gregor Kessler?"  
  
***  
  
Nikita awoke to the strains of an Italian Opera, although she didn't recognize it as such. She was in too much pain to care. Hanging from the ceiling in chains, she felt every joint had been dislocated. If she struggled, she could just touch the tips of her toes to the floor.  
  
"Ah, she wakes!"  
  
Nikita's head pivoted towards the voice.  
  
"Kes-Kessler?" she whispered hoarsely.  
  
"How kind of you to remember," the man said sweetly. Petting a cat, he gave her a mocking bow and blew her a kiss.  
  
Nikita remembered all right: the bloody slaughter of the evening before. Even now, she felt her gorge rise. He had drugged and tortured that girl, then laughingly dismembered her-and there had been nothing Nikita could do to stop any of it! He was insane, fully and completely, insane.  
  
"I thought you were dead," Nikita said, trying to maintain her calm.  
  
Kessler laughed, "Yes, well, I'm sure you wish I was."  
  
* * *  
  
"Gregor Kessler is the alias of a man named Norris Gaines, at one time, a formidable terrorist. Two years ago, after several years of searching for him, Section captured him and recovered a stolen batch of Cobalt 60 before he could dump it into the water supply."  
  
"Section had him in custody?" O'Brien asked.  
  
"Yes." Madeline answered.  
  
"And?" O'Brien coaxed.  
  
"And?" Madeline countered.  
  
"And so, he managed to escape? Or what?" O'Brien was rather incredulous.  
  
Madeline frowned, "No. He was turned over to Section Four for long term interrogation."  
  
"And they let him escape?"  
  
Madeline sighed in disgust. Michael answered instead. "He was green-listed, and released to gather more intel."  
  
"Released! You had Jack the Ripper released?" O'Brien jumped to his feet.  
  
"It wasn't Madeline's decision," Michael defended softly.  
  
"You won't let me go, but you let a freaking psychopath walk around free?"  
  
Neither Michael or Madeline responded to O'Brien's taunts.  
  
"Whose brilliant decision was that?" O'Brien finished with a sarcastic chuckle.  
  
"Does it matter now?" Madeline said with a frown.  
  
"No. I guess not." O'Brien kicked back in his chair and clasped his hands together. "So! What do we do about it?"  
  
"Nothing-for the moment. Kessler is trying to make a point. We have to be patient until we learn what that point might be." Madeline answered.  
  
"Great! I'm sure Nikita, wherever she is, will appreciate our patience in this matter." O'Brien got to his feet in disgust. "Are we done?"  
  
Madeline nodded, and O'Brien left.  
  
"Will he kill her?" Michael asked suddenly. He looked over at Madeline with eyes the color of olive jade.  
  
Madeline nodded, "Eventually. Once he's gotten what he wants."  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
"Revenge."  
* * *  
  
When Michael left Madeline's office, he found Mark O'Brien pacing the hallway, waiting for him.  
  
"Are you just going to stand around and wait?" O'Brien asked, as he followed Michael over to Michael's office.  
  
"No." Michael replied as he shut the door on the rest of Section.  
  
O'Brien smiled, "Good. Then how can I help?" He plopped down into the chair that Nikita normally seated herself when she visited.  
  
* * *  
  
"Sir? Madeline said she needs to see you, right away." Birkoff explained as Operations arrived in Section.  
  
Operations nodded and headed towards Madeline's office.  
  
"You wanted to see me?" He asked, as he stepped down into her office.  
  
"Yes," Madeline said softly.  
  
Operations noted that the expression on her face was grim. "What is it?"  
  
Madeline gestured for him to be seated.  
  
"It's about Stephen," she began, "and Nikita."  
  
Operations grew pale hearing his son's name. "What about them?"  
  
"While you were at the Agency something happened. Nikita has been kidnapped . . ."  
  
Madeline continued until the entire situation was clear.  
  
"Kessler? You're sure?"  
  
Madeline nodded.  
  
"What does this have to do with Stephen?"  
  
"I believe that Kessler was Martelli's contractor. Kessler killed your son."  
  
"What's your proof?"  
  
"It's circumstantial-but along with the girl's body in Nikita's apartment was your son's left index finger."  
  
Operations dropped his head into his hands, "No!"  
  
Madeline slipped out of her chair and walked around her desk. "I'm sorry," she said gently. She kneaded the back of his neck until his grief turned to controlled rage, and he got to his feet.  
  
"Send me Michael and put everything else on hold!"  
  
Madeline nodded even as she added, "George will want an explanation."  
  
"George? George can go f--k himself! It was his recommendation that Kessler be green-listed!"  
  
With that, Operations left Madeline's office.  
  
* * *  
  
"What do you want?" Nikita asked weakly, scanning her surroundings. Oddly, she seemed to be hanging from the ceiling in a glassed-in room similar to Operations' office back at Section. Below the room she was in, was a larger room constructed of large glass panels, steel beams and a concrete floor. She could see through the walls and roof, and wondered what the building could be. An empty museum? A large car dealership's display room? Everything looked new, just built, and as of yet, unoccupied.  
  
Kessler smiled, "Dare I say, justice?" He walked around her, as if admiring her nudity.  
  
The corner of Nikita's mouth turned up slightly. "For yourself? Give me my gun, I'll be glad to give you some justice."  
  
"For Annie!" he spat at her. "For my daughter!"  
  
Kessler produced a small remote controller and pointed it at Nikita. A second later Nikita's body shook violently with the electrical current that passed through her.  
  
"Enough?" he asked, releasing the button and ending her torment.  
  
"Uh. . . " Was all Nikita could utter. Blood poured from her mouth where she had bitten into her tongue.  
  
"We have a game to play, you and I." Kessler said, as Nikita regained full- consciousness.  
  
"W-what's the game?" Nikita murmured, trembling from pain and the cold.  
  
He smiled, then chuckled. "Oh, I can't tell you that, just yet. There are other's that must be invited to play, first!" * * *  
  
"Your file said you attended the profiler school at the FBI Academy in the States," Michael began, as he unbuttoned his jacket and seated himself at his desk.  
  
O'Brien nodded, "Yeah, I did."  
  
Michael turned on his laptop, punched several keys, and then turned the screen towards O'Brien. "This is everything Section knows about Gregor Kessler. Study it. We need to get inside his head."  
  
O'Brien nodded and scooted his chair closer.  
  
While O'Brien studied the file, Michael got to his feet and stood in front of his office window. He stared intently out the glass, but saw nothing but Nikita in his mind's eye. What was she suffering? He wondered fearfully. Kessler had proven himself capable of anything. Was she even still alive? He forced that thought back into the depths of his dark soul. If she was dead, he was twice damned. But he had no time for self-pity--if she was still alive, then Nikita's only hope was Section finding her in time.  
  
Michael's thoughts were disturbed when he heard O'Brien curse beneath his breath.  
  
"Geez, his own daughter?"  
  
Michael turned around, "Yes."  
  
"To save her from us." O'Brien concluded.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"He loved her that much?" O'Brien sounded morbidly impressed.  
  
"Yes," Michael replied, thinking suddenly of his own child. Cold fear raced through him. Was Adam safe?  
  
There was a buzz. Michael walked to his desk and reactivated his comm unit, "Yes?"  
  
"Operations has returned." It was Madeline. "He wants you in his office immediately."  
  
"Of course."  
  
O'Brien looked up questioningly.  
  
"Stay here and finish. If you have questions, or need further information, speak to Birkoff. I shall return shortly." * * *  
  
"Any word yet, Birkoff?" Walter leaned over the young computer op's station.  
  
"No. Nothing." Birkoff replied wearily. "But Operations has made Nikita's recovery top priority."  
  
Walter raised an eyebrow, "I'm grateful for that, but why? He's always hated her."  
  
"The finger they found at the murder scene-"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Belonged to Stephen Wolfe."  
  
"His son?"  
  
Birkoff nodded somberly.  
  
Walter nodded too. "Sorry to hear that. That kid meant everything to Operations."  
  
"Well, Nikita means a lot to me," Birkoff said bitterly.  
  
Walter squeezed Birkoff's shoulder in agreement. "If there is any way to get her back, Operations will get it done. Let me know if anything breaks."  
  
Birkoff nodded.  
  
* * *  
  
Nikita realized she had fainted somewhere along the line, when she awoke lying on the floor. Moving her arms was sudden agony, as the blood and feeling returned to them. The chains remained firmly attached to her wrists, but she was grateful for no longer being suspended from the ceiling by them.  
  
It was cold, lying naked on the floor, and she was desperately thirsty.  
  
'How long have I been here?' she wondered. 'A day? A couple of days? Did Section even know she was missing?'  
  
She thought of the scene in her apartment and cringed. They would believe it to be her lying there dismembered. Michael-Oh God! Surely, he would be the one to find the body! Of course he would, she thought, tearfully. It's what Kessler wanted--to hurt everyone that had hurt his daughter.  
  
What was confusing was how Kessler had managed to stay alive and regain his freedom. How could it have happened? How? Surely he wasn't released- surely!  
  
With a groan at the pain, Nikita pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked around her prison. The only thing visible in the room was a pet feeding dish. Kessler's notion of food and water?  
  
Nikita scooted painfully to it and sniffed at the contents. Dog food and water. She ignored the food and gulped down as much of the water as she could.  
  
"Enjoying your supper?" Came a voice from behind.  
  
Nikita lifted her head and turned to see Kessler standing in a glassed-in room next to the one she occupied. He wasn't alone. Sitting in a rocking chair was an elderly woman with a vacant expression on her face.  
  
"I brought you a friend. Thought you could use the company." Kessler said pleasantly. He stood by the woman and gently caressed her face.  
  
"Dear lady," he said to the woman in the chair, "may I introduce you to Nikita?"  
  
"Nikita," Kessler gestured to the woman, "Mrs. Kaufman."  
  
"Who is Mrs. Kaufman?" Nikita asked cautiously.  
  
"Oh, of course! Madeline's never introduced you-to her mother."  
  
"She-she's Madeline's mother?" Nikita felt her horror escalate.  
  
"Yes. Isn't that true, Mrs. Kaufman?"  
  
The old woman didn't respond and for a moment Nikita thought she might already be dead.  
  
"Come, come, Mrs. Kaufman," Kessler shouted at her, "answer the question!" He slapped her brutally across the face. Mrs. Kaufman reacted tearfully and held up her hands to shield her face from another blow.  
  
"Thank you," Kessler said at her reaction. "Now that you've both been made acquainted. . ." He turned on his heel and left.  
  
* * *  
  
"Have you come to any conclusions?" Michael asked O'Brien, as he returned to his office.  
  
"Yeah, two. The man is stark raving mad, and he's not stupid."  
  
Michael nodded in agreement. "Can you predict what he might do?"  
  
"Are you serious? The possibilities are endless!" O'Brien snapped.  
  
"We need to know what he's up to." Michael replied firmly. "What is your professional opinion?"  
  
O'Brien sighed, "All right. He wants revenge."  
  
Michael nodded, "Agreed."  
  
"Who in Section was directly involved with his daughter's death?"  
  
"Myself, Nikita, Operations, and Madeline."  
  
"Well, Stephen Wolfe was Operations' Achilles heel. Nikita-she's well liked by many in Section-my guess is he's going to hit you all where it hurts the most. You have any family, Michael? Does Nikita, or Madeline?"  
  
Michael nodded, his heart constricting at the thought. "Yes. I have a son, a sister, and a nephew. Nikita has a mother-Madeline, a mother."  
  
"Better get security on them all, as quickly as possible."  
  
"I've already taken care of that," Michael replied, hoping it wasn't already too little, too late.  
  
"Good. Then we wait. Kessler will contact us."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"To gloat. To taunt you with Nikita's life. He hurts her, he hurts you. He's a game player. He thinks he's smarter than all of you and he intends to prove it in the most painful way he can imagine."  
  
Operations' voice interrupted. "Michael, get to comm--now!"  
  
With a look, Michael invited O'Brien to come too. Both men raced out the door.  
  
When they arrived in comm, Operations was standing with Madeline at his side. On a monitor above their heads was Gregor Kessler.  
  
"Well, well-I see everyone is in good health." Kessler commented wryly. "Madeline! You've cut your hair." He added cheerfully.  
  
Madeline nodded her head in response, but didn't smile.  
  
"What do you want?" Operations asked bluntly, cutting past the annoying repartee.  
  
"Down to business, so soon? Of course-what DO I want?" Kessler seemed to think about it for a moment. "I want," he said finally, "you to feel as much pain as I can, before I kill you all."  
  
* * *  
  
Madeline's mother? Herself? What did they have in common? Nikita was at a loss to understand. She shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. Exhaustion and drugs were clouding her thinking and she was so very cold. She huddled in a dark corner trying to sleep.  
  
Bait! Nikita lifted her head off the floor with the sudden stab of insight. Of course! She and Mrs. Kaufman were bait for a trap! By now, she was sure Section was aware of the true identify of the body in her apartment. Madeline would be thorough in her investigation of what happened there-as would Michael. And while Nikita had no illusions about her own safety, she was sure Madeline would attempt to spare her mother.  
  
Suddenly, there was light in the adjoining room. Nikita squinted at sudden glare.  
  
Kessler was standing in the room speaking aloud to someone, other than the old woman in the chair. Nikita crawled over to the partition that separated her from them to investigate.  
  
Back at Section, Madeline's face froze as Kessler leaned over and gently kissed her mother on the brow. There was blood on the old woman's slackened mouth.  
  
"Has she ever forgiven you over your sister's death?" Kessler commented softly.  
  
Operations exchanged looks with Madeline.  
  
'Show him no fear.' Operations' eyes begged hers.  
  
'I know' hers answered, despite the hint of moisture in their deep brown depths.  
  
Madeline forced a smile, "Hello, mother."  
  
Kessler took one of the old woman's hands and waved it playfully at the camera, before striking her across the face. Madeline flinched in spite of herself. Operations stepped in front of her to shield her from sight.  
  
"All right Kessler, you have our attention. What are your terms?"  
  
"There are no terms," Kessler said with a smirk. "Oh, I assume you received your son's body part-I'm sorry there wasn't more, but you see, my cat was rather hungry."  
  
Michael watched Operations grow enraged and stepped into the conversation.  
  
"Where's Ni-ki-ta?" He asked.  
  
Kessler smiled and gave Michael a short bow of welcome.  
  
"You wish to see her, of course! Of course!" Kessler clicked a button on the remote he held in his hand, and all of Section saw that she was alive.  
  
"What's this? You need a better look?" They heard Kessler's voice taunt in the background. A moment later, Nikita was jerked from the floor as her chains were drawn upward. Hanging there in the blue-white light of an overhead light, she looked like an angel suspended between heaven and earth. Her hair glittered gold as it tumbled over milk-white shoulders.  
  
'Detach' Michael warned himself, just as Nikita screamed. Michael stared beyond the vision of her pain-racked body dancing in the air on electrical- current strings.  
  
Kessler frowned as he watched Michael's expressionless face. His intel had indicated a deep attachment between the two. Perhaps the affection was only one-sided. The thought that Michael was unmoved bothered him greatly.  
  
"Enough for now." Kessler said, shutting off the power and lowering her unconscious body to the floor. "I like her dancing, don't you? So sweet. No need to waste it on an unappreciative audience. Adieu, for now."  
  
The picture went dark.  
  
"Birkoff! Did you get a fix?" Operations voice boomed in the deathly quiet of the room.  
  
The young operative shook his head miserably and buried his head in his arms. He had been close, so very close to a trace. He'd used every back- door trick he knew-but there just hadn't been enough time.  
  
"I wouldn't worry," O'Brien interrupted. "He'll let us know where he is, when he's ready."  
  
Operations flashed O'Brien a furious look, then transferred his attention to a stone silent Madeline. Her painfully lost expression was enough for him to reach out and cup her face in his hands.  
  
"Are you all right?" Operations asked in a voice that startled many with its tenderness.  
  
Madeline made a visible effort to get herself in hand. "I'll be fine." She said, with a nod. She moved and Operations immediately dropped his hands. "I'll be in my office, if you need me." She said formally as she slowly walked away.  
  
Michael watched the two thoughtfully and remembered Nikita's assurance that the two had once been lovers.  
  
"It can be done," she'd told him, only to be rebuffed.  
  
"Just because a thing can be done, doesn't mean it should be done."  
  
Michael bitterly remembered his words and Nikita's reaction. He'd watched hope set in her eyes, like the sun into a dark ocean.  
  
It didn't matter that he wasn't free to love her then. It didn't matter that he couldn't injure one love for another-Elena had been a mission, but she'd also grown dear to him. Some decent part of him had balked at taking Nikita as a lover. Doing so, would have eventually destroyed Elena and Nikita.  
  
But now, Elena was dead to him and he could no longer hurt her. Now, he was free to love Nikita-and now she might be forever lost to him. Always, too little, too late.  
  
* * *  
  
"Good morning!" A voice said pleasantly.  
  
Nikita jerked awake and stared bleary-eyed at Kessler who stood over her, stroking his white cat.  
  
"Sleep well?" he asked with a wicked smile.  
  
Back at Section Birkoff shouted, "Kessler's broadcasting again!" In moments, the Tac Ops was filled with interested viewers.  
  
"He's talking---where's the sound?" O'Brien asked.  
  
"I don't-" Birkoff sounded frustrated and punched several keys. "He's only broadcasting video-no audio!"  
  
"I've brought you a gift," Kessler said sweetly. He nodded to a small item lying on the floor, several yards away. It was a gun.  
  
Nikita's eyes darted between it and Kessler.  
  
"Ah! I know what you're thinking and I wouldn't try it-not yet." He waved the remote in the air.  
  
Nikita moved like lightning, kicking the remote out of his hand, then did a forward summersault towards the pistol on the floor. She had it in her hand and was on her feet ordering him to freeze in one fluid motion.  
  
Kessler chuckled, "My, my, my! What a picture you make! You're very good, my dear-alas." He started to lean over to pick up the dropped remote.  
  
"Don't!" She ordered fiercely, tightening her grip on the pistol and chambering a round.  
  
He simply smiled and continued to reach.  
  
Nikita pulled the trigger and nothing happened. And again, with the same results.  
  
She dropped her arm with the realization she'd been had.  
  
The thought that she could just club him with the gun instead instantly died, as he pointed the remote at her. She dropped the gun on the floor.  
  
"Careful!" He chuckled, "I wouldn't want you to shoot yourself accidentally."  
  
"With an empty gun?" She returned caustically.  
  
"Oh, it's not empty. There is one bullet in the chamber. You can check it if you wish."  
  
She did, and there was a bullet. One bullet. She popped the magazine out to be sure.  
  
"So what is the game? I commit suicide for you?"  
  
"Ah, my dear you disappoint me! No! The main reason you aren't dead was your kindness to Annie. You really cared for her suffering. I heard it in your voice." Kessler paused, set down the cat, and sighed deeply, remembering.  
  
"She was a good girl, my Annie. A good girl-an innocent girl-like yourself, hmmm?"  
  
Nikita frowned at his implication.  
  
"Yes, you see I know a lot about you." He smiled again, "I know you were innocent when you were brought into Section-Section knew it too."  
  
"No-I don't believe you." Nikita said, but his words stunned her all the same.  
  
Kessler bobbed his head back and forth playfully. "Of course not. Michael wouldn't lie to you, would he? And Madeline-" he kissed his fingers. "An angel of truth and purity."  
  
"Then what do you want?" Nikita asked bitterly. She was physically and mentally exhausted.  
  
"Do you read Kipling?" Kessler asked, suddenly changing gears in the conversation.  
  
"Kipling?" Nikita was at a loss.  
  
"Pity," he replied, realizing she didn't have a clue. "Hmmm, at least, I believe it was Kipling-no matter. There's a wonderful story called "The Lady and the Tiger"-a delightful tale of fate and choices. I've chosen the same theme. However, in this case, it can be called The Lady or the Lover." His voice got sing-songy: "You can save o-ne, but not the o- ther."  
  
He walked over and pointed at Madeline's mother, asleep in the chair.  
  
"Another innocent, to be sure," Kessler commented. "But she is also your ticket to freedom. Shoot her, and you'll be free."  
  
Nikita looked appalled. "No."  
  
"No?" Kessler smile grew larger. "But wait, I'm not finished! You will be truly free-and you can have Michael as well."  
  
Nikita's expression remained unchanged.  
  
"Come, come, my dear. Look at her? She's old, she's sick-no use to anyone, not even herself. While you are young and have your whole life ahead of you."  
  
"No!" Nikita repeated angrily. She flung the pistol at his feet rebelliously.  
  
Kessler looked more amused than before.  
"What the hell is he saying to her?" Walter exclaimed, watching Nikita's face as she flung the gun aside.  
  
O'Brien nodded to himself. "He's offering her a choice of some kind-a hard choice, I'm sure." He looked over at Michael, who stared at the monitor rubbing his chin. 'A nervous habit?' O'Brien wondered.  
  
Kessler walked over to the loft window and looked down on the floor below. "But you see, that's not the entire game. Come and look." He gestured Nikita over to the window. She went cautiously.  
  
Below were several men working on setting up an ambush.  
  
Kessler pointed to two objects, in plain view from the loft. "Mini- cannons," he commented. "They shoot 7,000 rounds a minute. When your rescuers arrive to save you, they must traverse the floor below."  
"What are they looking at?" Walter continued to grumble. The view from the monitor showed only the two standing at a window and looking down.  
  
"Michael will undoubtedly be leading the rescue and will be the first to die---unless you warn him of the danger."  
  
"Warn him how?"  
  
"With a gunshot, of course. You shoot Mrs. Kaufman, Michael will hear and be more cautious. You have my word he'll be spared."  
  
Nikita walked over and picked up the gun. "I can always kill myself," she said, suddenly, putting the gun to her temple.  
  
Kessler shook his head, "Please, be my guest-although the pistol won't fire now either."  
  
"But it will then, won't it? You'll see to that." Nikita snapped back.  
  
"I have something to show you. I'm quite proud of the technology, you see. Put the gun down and step back."  
  
Nikita did as he requested. "All right. It's down. Now what?"  
  
He waved her further back and waited until she complied, before picking up the weapon.  
  
"You see this," he pointed at a small red dot the end of the gun barrel, "now watch." He pointed the gun at Mrs. Kaufman, still sitting oblivious in her chair. A small red light came on. When he moved the gun off to the side, the light went off.  
  
Nikita's mouth went dry as she began to understand.  
  
"You see, this gun will only fire at its intended target. Mrs. Kaufman is wearing a transmitter. The gun will only fire when you point it at the transmitter." Kessler watched Nikita's face as he saw her attention shift towards the window.  
  
"Oh, and lest I forget. The window is a one-way mirror and the room is fairly soundproof. You can bang on the windows and scream all you want, but you won't be seen and you won't be loud enough to be heard. Only something as loud as a gunshot, would be."  
  
Nikita walked over to the window and looked down at the weapons being readied for the ambush. She'd seen mini-cannons at work. They could shred the metal off an armored tank. What they would do to human flesh. . . to Michael . . .  
  
She turned to see Kessler laying the pistol back onto the floor.  
  
"So, that is the endgame. Choose life, with Michael or Madeline's mother. Surely, an easy enough choice, Nikita." His voice was gentle.  
  
"You won't let me go in any case!" Nikita said bitterly.  
  
"Oh, but I will. I swear it, on my Annie's memory." He said soberly.  
  
Nikita's eyes filled with tears. 'He means it!' she realized suddenly. 'My God! He means it!'  
  
After several moments passed, Nikita asked, "Can I have my clothes back? If I go with Michael, I'll need something to wear."  
  
Kessler watched her in silence for a long while, before nodding. His expression was strange-almost disappointed, then not.  
  
"You'll have clothes, money, and passports in the morning-before they come."  
  
* * *  
  
Operations checked the time and sighed. Madeline had been in her office for nearly three hours and hadn't spoken to anyone during that time. He could no longer resist the need to go to her. He keyed in his code and entered. He found Madeline sitting motionless on her couch with her hands lying limply in her lap  
  
"Madeline?"  
  
She shook her head and he saw the silent tears that were coursing down her face.  
  
Operations seated himself at her side. Would she allow herself to be comforted? He wondered. The greatest frustration of his life had been Madeline's inhuman emotional strength. She never needed him. She'd wanted him on occasion-and on her terms, but she never, ever needed him. God, just once, he wished she'd need him!  
  
He slipped one hand behind her head and cupped the soft curls at the base of her skull.  
  
"Madeline," he said softly. He drew her against his shoulder, and she came without resistance. He'd half expected her to push him away. Gratefully, he tightened his arms around her.  
  
"M-mama." She sobbed, against him. "Mama."  
  
"Shhh." He kissed her forehead. "Shhh, my love."  
  
* * *  
  
"Tell me about Nikita." O'Brien said suddenly, as he again sat at Michael's desk.  
  
"Nikita? What do you want to know?"  
  
O'Brien studied the young man in black for a moment, before asking the question he'd had on his mind a long time.  
  
"Does she love you?"  
  
Michael sat very still and his eyes grew vividly green as O'Brien watched.  
  
"Why would you need to know that?" Michael finally answered cautiously.  
  
"It would help with the profile."  
  
"I don't know." Michael answered sadly. The last time he'd seen her, she'd slapped his face.  
  
"Then let me ask you this, do you love her?"  
  
Michael looked at O'Brien with despair etched on his face. Reluctantly, and so softly O'Brien had to strain to hear, he answered, "Yes."  
  
"Do you think Kessler knows that?"  
  
Michael frowned. "Perhaps. Why does it matter?"  
  
"Would Nikita kill to save you?"  
  
"She has killed to save me, on several occasions."  
  
"That was in a tactical situation. I mean, would she kill an innocent to save you?"  
  
The idea horrified Michael, O'Brien realized.  
  
"No. She wouldn't do that." Michael replied. "She couldn't."  
  
"Not even to save you from certain death?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"That's it." O'Brien said softly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That's what Kessler wants. A loss of innocence, for a loss of innocence. That's the choice he's given her."  
  
"She won't kill an innocent in cold blood!" Michael repeated emphatically.  
  
"Then she'll lose you-or her life. And my guess is, you are her life."  
  
* * *  
  
"Sir!" Birkoff shouted his name through Section.  
  
Operations turned at his name.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I've got a location!"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Not far! Outside Hamburg."  
  
"Walter!"  
  
Walter looked up in surprise to see Operations approaching his area. Visits from the boss were rare.  
  
"I want an full set of combat gear, in my size, delivered to my Section quarters, immediately."  
  
Walter blinked, thinking he had misunderstood.  
  
"I'm going with Red Team! Get to it!" He turned on his heel, and shouted at Birkoff. "Birkoff!"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Section Four is closer to Hamburg than we are. Contact them and have them send in surveillance teams. Under no circumstances, however, are they to engage-is that clear?"  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
Walter approached Birkoff's console with his hands full of combat gear. "Look like the old man's blood is up," he commented in passing.  
  
"Yeah," Birkoff replied, suddenly feeling a rush of confidence he hadn't had before.  
  
* * *  
  
Nikita sat chained in the darkness of her room, warm and fed.  
  
The clothes that Kessler had offered for the next morning turned up that evening instead, without explanation. Nikita didn't feel like complaining. After three days of complete nudity, she felt she'd never ever want to go au naturale again. The white dress was a little big and one not from her wardrobe, but it covered everything from neck to ankles.  
  
The second surprise of the evening came when one of her guards presented her with a hamburger, fries, and a Coke.  
  
"The condemned woman's last meal," she quipped to herself, before wolfing it down.  
  
'Warm and fed.' She looked over at Madeline's motionless mother. She, too, had been brought food, but seemed too weak or disinterested to consume it. Nikita tried unsuccessfully to attract the woman's attention, but feared she was too ill and too frightened to communicate.  
  
Kessler had not made an appearance since that morning. Nikita was sure when he did again, it would be to tell her, her rescuers were on their way.  
  
With a worried sigh, she stood and made her way over to the window. Earlier, she'd tried banging the pistol against the glass window, but matter how hard she hit the glass, it simply wouldn't break.  
  
"Ah, Michael, what would you do? There has to be a way." She muttered to herself.  
  
The building was glassed in on three sides and making it nearly impossible to enter without being seen. From her vantage point, the two mini-cannons were perfectly placed to catch anyone entering the building from either the front or side entrances. Michael and all of his team would buy it, the first five meters into the building, and never know what hit them.  
  
'Kill the old woman and be free! Be free with Michael at your side.'  
  
Nikita shook her head to discard the thoughts that Kessler had implanted there, but they persisted.  
  
'So simple,' he had said. 'She was old, useless-would die soon anyway.'  
  
Nikita raised the pistol and pointed it at the chair in which Madeline's mother was seated. The blood-red light stood out brightly in the dark.  
  
Nikita tried to imagine pulling the trigger, then tried to see in her mind's eye what would happen if she didn't. Michael's body would be ripped to pieces along with his entire team. What was that compared to an old woman? But what if it had been her own mother? Or Michael's?  
  
"I can't." Nikita sat down hard and leaned back against the partition that separated her from Madeline's mother. "Damn you, Michael, I can't do it!" She sobbed. "I'd die for you, but I can't murder for you!"  
  
Out of grief, she turned the weapon and pointed at herself and was suddenly alerted to another possibility. 'There was another way!' Nikita laughed through her tears. 'There was another way!'  
  
* * *  
  
"You heard me, Michael. I'm leading Red team." Operations said firmly. "O'Brien's argument makes sense. If Kessler's using Nikita's feeling for you against us, if you're not there, the problem ceases to exist."  
  
O'Brien actually flinched at the cold look of hatred on Michael's face.  
  
"Sir, with respect, you haven't led a Red team into the field in six years." Michael's voice remained politely calm, even if his eyes radiated icy-green death threats all aimed at O'Brien.  
  
Operations actually smiled. "You think I've forgotten how?"  
  
Michael didn't answer, but his clenched fists reflected his thoughts.  
  
"Before you kill O'Brien in my Tac Ops, Michael, let me finish." Operations nodded at Birkoff. "Put up the holo of the facility."  
  
A three-dimensional schematic of the building, where the hostages were being held, immediately appeared above the conference table.  
  
"You see our problem," Operations pointed at the front of the building. "All exterior entrances of the building are on this side and that means Kessler has full view of all avenues of approach."  
  
Michael frowned, and shook his head, "All but one." He pointed to the sloping rooftop.  
  
Operations smiled at Michael like a professor with a favorite pupil. "Which is why you and Delta team are going in by air, tonight. Land on the rooftop and maintain radio silence until we rendezvous at 0600 in the morning. Red team will bait the action, while you and Delta team slip inside from above."  
  
* * *  
  
Once the answer to her problem became evident, Nikita only needed to refine on it.  
  
She concentrated on all every scrap of field medical training she could remember. Living or dying, meant knowing where to shoot and being right on target. There was always the ricochet problem, but that's what luck was for.  
  
Now all that was left to do now was wait, and pray.  
  
* * *  
  
Silent as death itself, Michael and his team floated down atop the building in the darkness. Their nightscope goggles painted the rooftop in fluorescent green. It aided Michael in dispatching the two, rooftop guards quietly, with a knife across their throats.  
  
Michael's hand signals told two members of his team to strip the bodies and change into the clothes to take their places.  
  
By 0315, Delta team was in place. There was nothing more to do but wait, and pray.  
  
* * *  
  
"They're here." Kessler stood at the window. His voice startled Nikita awake. She had been dreaming of Michael. For all of the horror of her situation, the dream had been pleasant. Comforting in fact. Now adrenaline caused her to jump to her feet. She went to the window to look.  
  
"I can't see anyone," she said.  
  
"But, they are here, trust me."  
  
Nikita held the gun tightly in her hand and felt the wetness of nervous sweat slick her palms.  
  
"I shall leave you now, to do your duty," He smiled at her, almost kindly. "but I will be nearby."  
  
Nikita gave him a quick nod, and returned her fearful gaze to the window.  
  
If she fired too soon, the team wouldn't be able to hear it; if too late, the team would be decimated. She'd only have seconds to react, once they entered the building.  
  
"Come on Michael---" she muttered beneath her breath, wrapping the chain that kept her captive tightly around her left arm, "let's get the show on the road."  
  
The words came to fruition a second later as Nikita spied three operatives all in black, making a beeline for the front door.  
  
She moved to the middle of the room and pointed the weapon at Madeline's mother. The ruby light glowed at the end of the barrel as she watched the first operative slip inside the door. She took a last deep breath, extended her left arm in front of the gun's barrel, and pulled the trigger.  
  
Michael heard the shot, just as he and his team repelled off the rooftop. Their automatic weapons shattering the glass walls as they fell. They had already pinpointed both mini-cannons and swiftly took out those men manning them. Once that was done, Operations and Red team exploded inside to cover Delta as they landed on the interior floor and shook themselves free of their repelling harnesses.  
  
In less than five minutes, the first floor of the building was secured. Two minutes after that, Michael and Operations had made it to the second floor for a room-by-room search.  
  
They found Nikita, crumpled on the floor with Kessler standing over her, unarmed. Her white dress was saturated in scarlet.  
  
An enraged Michael brought his arm up to fire, but Operations blocked him. "He's mine." Operations ordered. "I want him alive." The two men exchanged looks. Operations had lost a son. That Michael bitterly understood. He yielded to the older man's request.  
  
Operations waved Kessler away from Nikita as Michael rushed to her side.  
  
"Birkoff, I need a medical team, now!" Michael pulled off his gloves and quickly felt her neck for a pulse. "She's alive," he said with relief. He looked at her worst wound, gently unwrapping the heavy chain from around her forearm to expose a profusely bleeding bullet hole.  
  
"She didn't do it," Kessler muttered, smiling oddly as an operative cuffed his hands behind his back.  
  
"She didn't do what?" Operations asked, as he watched Michael work to staunch Nikita's bleeding. Besides her arm, Michael found two other small wounds, one in her chest, another in her abdomen.  
  
"I gave her a choice, save Michael or save Madeline's mother." Kessler looked into the next room as a medical team was strapping Madeline's mother onto a stretcher. "She's alive. They're both alive. How did she manage that?" Kessler sounded amazed and amused. "I always knew she was a good girl. Just like my Annie." Kessler chuckled as they dragged him away. "Just like my Annie."  
  
* * *  
  
Operations knelt at Michael's side and removed the gun from Nikita's right hand, while Michael kept pressure on her other arm. "Self-inflicted?"  
  
Michael nodded.  
  
"Why?" Operations wondered aloud.  
  
"I don't know," Michael replied, genuinely puzzled.  
  
"Okay! Back away!" Came an order from behind.  
  
Michael looked up with relief; the medical team had arrived. He hovered nearby as the team completed their triage and got Nikita ready for transport, while Operations left to direct the mop-up.  
  
"Okay, call the copter in-we're outa here!" Shouted the med tech over his shoulder as he unplugged his stethoscope from his ears.  
  
"Indigo-"  
  
The med tech looked up to see Michael's hand on his shoulder, and a question in his worried gray-green eyes.  
  
"Hell, Michael, you know better than to ask me anything yet. She's breathing and she's bleeding. The faster we get her back to medlab, the faster I'll be able to make a decent diagnosis."  
  
"Of course." Michael said softly, stepping away.  
  
"You riding with us?" Indigo asked, as he watched his team carefully place Nikita on a stretcher.  
  
Michael nodded.  
  
While the unmarked Blackhawk sprang into the air with its wounded cargo, and headed westward, Michael sat quietly on one side of Nikita, while Indigo and his assistant sat on the other. Every few minutes, Indigo took Nikita's blood pressure and vitals, and Michael noticed that each time, the black man's frown grew deeper.  
  
Real concern grew, when Indigo shouted at the pilot, "Jeff! What's our ETA?"  
  
The co-pilot yelled back instead. Over the rotor noise, came the answer, "Forty minutes!"  
  
"Shit," Indigo muttered, as he increased the airflow in the mask over Nikita's face.  
  
"What's wrong?" Michael asked.  
  
"Respiration's down-so's her blood pressure. I think we've got a collapsed lung, maybe some internal bleeding-Chris, get another IV started!"  
  
"Will she last forty minutes in that condition?" Michael asked.  
  
Indigo's expression indicated she wouldn't.  
  
Michael got to his feet, and moved closer to the pilot. Reaching around the co-pilot, he grabbed the radio mike. "Birkoff! I need the location of the nearest civilian hospital in relation to our location, over!"  
  
"Civilian?" Birkoff was startled at the request. "Michael, you know you can't-"  
  
"Do it, Birkoff!"  
  
Birkoff swallowed, hearing his own death in Michael's voice if he dared disobey.  
  
Birkoff looked around the room to see if anyone would overhear him breaking the rules. His fingers tapped furiously for several seconds, before he responded. "T-there's a hospital sixteen miles from your location."  
  
"Send the coordinates!"  
  
Birkoff obeyed and Michael verbally transferred them to the pilot.  
  
"Hey, you know we can't-" the pilot balked.  
  
Michael pulled his 9mm and pressed the cold barrel of it to the head of the pilot, "Do it!"  
  
"Um, okay." The man wisely answered knowing Michael's reputation.  
  
Indigo tugged on Michael's arm.  
  
"You know there will be questions-police. How are you going to explain who we are and what happened to her, to the civilian authorities? This isn't a traffic accident victim, you know!"  
  
"You worry about keeping her alive! I'll worry about the cover story." Michael said with a lethal edge to his soft voice.  
  
Michael watched Indigo who threw up his hands and nodded, then continued speaking to Birkoff.  
  
"Where's O'Brien," Michael asked.  
  
"I'm here. What is it, Michael?"  
  
"I need a cover scenario-I'm taking Nikita to a civilian hospital, Birkoff has the location."  
  
O'Brien didn't argue, "I understand. I'll call ahead and give them a plausible explanation of your impending arrival. See you in a few hours. O'Brien, out!"  
  
"Plausible explanation!" Birkoff ground out between clenched teeth. "What plausible explanation?  
  
O'Brien shrugged, grinned, then ruffled Birkoff's short hair. "Oh, I'll think of something."  
  
"We're all gonna die!" Birkoff muttered morbidly to himself as he watched O'Brien leave.  
  
* * *  
  
"Who's in charge here?" Michael was asked by the chief of hospital security.  
  
"I am," came Michael's terse reply.  
  
"Good-as your people directed, we've cordoned off one of the emergency rooms. You will have our complete cooperation."  
  
"Thank you," Michael said absently, watching Nikita vanish behind the door of the operating room.  
  
"I don't suppose you can tell me who she is?" The security chief asked.  
  
"You know all we can tell you, I'm sorry."  
  
"Ah well, that's okay. National security and all. I understand."  
  
* * *  
  
O'Brien found Michael standing guard outside the operating room, two hours later, still in his black combat fatigues.  
  
"Have any trouble?" O'Brien asked. His wrinkled overcoat reminded one of television's Columbo.  
  
"No." Michael replied, knowing the question concerned their cover story.  
  
"And Nikita?"  
  
"They haven't said."  
  
"Well, as soon as she's out of surgery, we've got to get her out of here. Our cover's pretty damn thin."  
  
"What exactly is our cover?" Michael asked with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Nikita's the wife of a international crime lord/terrorist, gone state's evidence. Her hubby tried to kill her-we're getting her stable before we extradite her to the States."  
  
"And we're CIA?"  
  
"Nope, National Security Agency working with Interpol." O'Brien flashed his badge and grinned.  
  
"Okay. We're done." Came a voice from behind.  
  
Both men turned to see Nikita being rolled out of the operating room. The man that had spoken was in green surgical garb, marked by sweat-darkened armpits.  
  
"How is she?" Michael asked.  
  
"She'll be fine. We pulled two metal fragments out of her collapsed right lung and one out of her abdomen."  
  
"Can she be moved?" O'Brien asked.  
  
"I think so," the surgeon replied. "Can you tell me how this happened?"  
  
"Not and guarantee your safety. The less you know, the better for everyone." O'Brien answered, showing the doctor his NSA credentials.  
  
"She's American?"  
  
"From Columbia, and that's all I can say." O'Brien closed his badge with a professional snap of his wrist and tucked it in his jacket pocket. "My security team will take over from your staff. Thank you for your help, doctor."  
  
The doctor, realizing he had been dismissed, nodded and left.  
  
O'Brien turned to see the corners of Michael's mouth twitch.  
  
"What?" O'Brien asked of Michael's expression.  
  
The normally somber, Class Five Operative's face bloomed into a rare smile. "I think, you are enjoying this, much too much."  
  
"Hey, anything for a friend!" O'Brien grinned and offered his hand.  
  
Michael took it and shook it firmly, "Thanks." A flash of gratitude illuminated his silver-green eyes.  
  
After a moment, O'Brien's grin faded. "You think Operations is going to cancel us over this?"  
  
* * *  
  
"Damn it, Birkoff, where are they?" Operations shouted.  
  
"I, um-they had an onboard emergency and-" Birkoff cowered.  
  
"And we had to land," Michael finished, walking into Section.  
  
"Michael! In my office!" Operations turned on his heel.  
  
O'Brien, who had accompanied Michael into Tac Ops, made a face. "Well, we're dead."  
  
"Not we," Michael said gently, "me. You had nothing to do with this. Do you understand?"  
  
"But. . . " O'Brien began.  
  
Michael shook his head, "No."  
  
Birkoff watched the exchange silently. As Michael turned away, he asked, "How's Nikita?"  
  
Michael paused mid-stride, then turned and replied, "She'll be fine."  
  
Birkoff looked half-relieved, half-regretful. He nodded his thanks to Michael, then watched as the top op walked calmly to his fate.  
"I've had two phone calls from the Agency, and one from NSA! What kind of crap are you trying to pull, Michael! You know the damn rules as well as I do!"  
  
Michael stood quietly and allowed Operations to vent. He couldn't argue. He had broken every standard operating procedure. His thoughts strayed from Operation's tirade, to Nikita's face as they had brought her out of surgery. Out of danger. She would live another day, and for another day, Michael could continue to exist.  
  
"Section is not here to solve your personal problems!" Operations continued furiously.  
  
Michael pressed his lips together, then asked, "Is Kessler cancelled?"  
  
"Yes!" Operations said, with grim satisfaction.  
  
"He was green-listed." Michael reminded quietly. "Did George authorize it?"  
  
Operations was caught with his mouth open. In that second, he gained new appreciation of his level five op. Hoisted on his own petard! Operations couldn't very well punish Michael for breaking Sections rules, when he had done the same, and Michael knew it.  
  
Operations took a deep cleansing breath and calmed down. "Do we have an understanding? No more side trips without notifying me?"  
  
Michael nodded, allowing his superior to save face. "Of course. Is there anything else?"  
  
"Yes." Operations added, relenting. "Your people did a good job today. Give them some down time."  
  
Michael nodded once, and left.  
  
* * *  
  
Michael couldn't sleep and found himself in medlab at three in the morning. She had drawn him there. Her light guiding him out of his darkness. His Ni-ki-ta. . .  
  
The night nurse nodded to acknowledge Michael's arrival.  
  
"How's she doing?" He asked, hopefully, standing in the doorway of Nikita's cubical  
  
The nurse smiled, "Just fine. She's asleep-oh, would you do me a favor and sit with her a minute? I have to run down to the lab."  
  
"Of course," Michael said politely.  
  
"I'll just be a minute, I promise." She ran-walked down the hallway.  
  
Michael seated himself in a chair near Nikita's bed and watched her sleep. She was so beautiful, a pastel rose upon a pillow.  
  
Look, but don't touch his mind told him, but his heart had already reached for her hand. Gently, ever so gently, his fingers slid over and around hers until he held her hand in his.  
  
"Michael," He heard her softly murmur.  
  
Slender fingers curled around his, like soft chains holding him fast. Like a baby, who curls its tiny fist around its father's thumb, she held him close.  
  
". . . .love you. . ."  
  
Two words. Two sledgehammer blows to the chest.  
  
Michael looked up desperately for the nurse to return.  
  
'Hurry! Dear God, please hurry,' he pleaded silently. His prayer was answered, the nurse passed by at that moment, with a quick smile to acknowledge that she had returned, before moving back to her station.  
  
Carefully, reverently, his kissed her hand as he removed his from her grasp. He stood. He moved one leg, then the other. He walked out of medlab, and down the hallway, straight like a soldier, graceful as a panther.  
  
He walked with a purpose, a pilgrim seeking sanctuary.  
  
He made it to his room.  
  
He opened his door, entered, then closed it.  
  
And made it into the bathroom. And into the shower. And turned on the water. And crumpled to the tile floor, still in his clothes.  
  
Sobbing.  
  
Like a child, into exhaustion.  
  
Like Beast, when his Beauty had returned to him.  
  
She. Still. Loved. Him?  
  
'How could she?' his mind taunted him. 'How could she, love some thing, like himself? How could she?'  
  
After the storm had passéd, Michael sat bemused and wet on the bathroom floor.  
  
'Delayed stress syndrome,' Madeline would say, this had been.  
  
He smiled bitterly. She would think he no longer had a heart to break.  
  
But he had a heart. And Nikita held it in her hands.  
  
* * * "Hey, Sugar," Walter purred playfully.  
  
"Hey, Walter." She gave him a tired but happy smile.  
  
"These are for you." He dashingly pulled a bouquet of Shasta daisies from behind his back.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Walter put them down on a nearby side table.  
  
"How you feeling?"  
  
"Okay. Did Mrs. Kaufman make it out, okay?"  
  
"Mrs. Who?"  
  
"Madeline's mother. Is she okay?"  
  
"That was Madeline's mother?" Walter said with some shock.  
  
"That's what Kessler said."  
  
"Hell, didn't know she HAD a mother . . . and no, she died."  
  
Nikita's eyes filled with sudden tears. "It didn't work?"  
  
"What didn't work, Sugar?"  
  
"I tried to defect the bullet." She started to cry harder.  
  
"Hey, Sugar, now don't do this. She didn't die of any bullet wound-she just died-and well, she was old and from what I understand, already dying when she was kidnapped."  
  
"Really?" Nikita sniffed.  
  
"Yeah, really-now what the hell did you mean about deflecting the bullet? And more than that, here's the sixty-four thousand dollar question that everyone's been asking-why did you shoot yourself?"  
  
"Kessler told me I could go free, if I killed Madeline's mother. I refused, but then he showed me where he had set up an ambush for anyone trying rescue us. He had mini-cannons, Walter. You know what they can do."  
  
"Sure, make hamburger-so what happened?"  
  
"He gave me a gun and told me I could either kill Mrs. Kaufman, and by doing so, warn the rescue team from walking into an ambush, or I could let her live, and watch the rescue team walk into the fire of the two mini- cannons."  
  
"And you couldn't do it."  
  
"No, but I couldn't let Red team be slaughtered either." She took a deep breath and continued.  
  
"Kessler's gun would only fire at a pre-selected target."  
  
"Ahhh!" A light went on in Walter's eyes. "Of course! The old lady was wearing a transmitter---now I know why!"  
  
"By accident, I noticed that as long as I was pointing the gun at her, it was prepared to fire-even with my body in between it and the target."  
  
"You used your body to deflect the bullet!"  
  
"Well, not exactly. I was afraid it might just go all the way through, so I wrapped a chain around my arm and fired the pistol against the chain. I thought that had a better chance at deflecting the bullet."  
  
"And you nearly got yourself killed doing it!" He snapped.  
  
"Walter, I had no choice." She defended tearfully.  
  
"Yeah. . . " He relented.  
  
"Was Michael . . .d-did the team make it okay? Was anyone killed?"  
  
"No. We had no casualties, except for you. And besides, Michael wasn't leading Red team, Operations was."  
  
"Operations?" "Yeah," Walter chuckled. "It was his ass you saved, not Michael's."  
  
"Michael wasn't there?" She asked, sounding disappointed.  
  
"Oh, he was there all right. He led Delta-a rooftop excursion."  
  
Nikita closed her eyes with relief. He was safe! They were all safe.  
  
* * * "And that's why she shot herself. I just thought you ought to know." Walter finished.  
  
Madeline nodded, then gave him a tiny smile. "Thank you, Walter."  
  
"Sure." Walter nodded and turned to leave Madeline's office, then paused at the door and added, "By the way, sorry about your mother."  
  
Madeline looked at him with luminous brown eyes, and nodded her thanks.  
  
* * * "How are you feeling?" Madeline asked, taking a chair at Nikita's bedside.  
  
"Better," Nikita answered, somewhat surprised by her visit.  
  
Madeline nodded. "Good. I've spoken with the doctor. He seems to feel you will be well enough to be released by tomorrow afternoon."  
  
Nikita didn't know whether or not that was a good thing. She'd been lying there for hours remembering her apartment the last time she had occupied it. The idea of having to return there tormented her.  
  
"In the meantime, is there anything I can get for you?" Madeline asked kindly.  
  
Nikita's first thought was 'Yes, Michael', who as of yet had not visited her. But she shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks anyway."  
  
"I came to tell you two things," Madeline said, her tone becoming serious.  
  
Nikita waited patiently for what she had to say.  
  
"First, while it's true that Michael participated in drugging you for your last assignment, he did it to help you, not hurt you."  
  
Nikita frowned, the pain of her earlier betrayal rushing back.  
  
"It wasn't the drugs that hurt Madeline. It was his use of himself to seduce me! Those disks. . ."  
  
"Michael didn't know about the implants on the disks, Nikita. I did that. Again, not to hurt you, but to help you through a difficult job. It would have never occurred to Michael to use himself, anyway."  
  
"Why wouldn't it? He's tried seduction before to get what he wants!"  
  
"Seduction, yes. But love? No. I think the idea that Michael could be loved by anyone, is outside the realm of possibility, in his mind at least."  
  
"I think you might be giving him too much credit," Nikita snapped sullenly.  
  
"And I think, you aren't giving him enough." Madeline said, her dark eyes, growing darker. "Would having himself cancelled, prove his feelings for you?'  
  
"What do you mean?" The question startled Nikita.  
  
"When you were being medivaced back to Section, you went critical. Michael rerouted the helicopter to a civilian hospital to save your life."  
  
The impact of what Michael had done, stunned Nikita breathless with its implications. Was that why Michael had not made an appearance?  
  
"And Operations has had him cancelled-" The words nearly strangled Nikita as she got them said.  
  
"No." Madeline intervened. "Though Operations was certainly angry enough at him, but no. Michael is alive."  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"At the Agency with Operations. We cancelled Kessler, but he was green- listed. They're having to deal with George over it."  
  
"Green-listed! How could they?" Nikita asked appalled.  
  
"Indeed." Madeline replied darkly.  
  
Nikita fell silent feeling emotionally exhausted by it all.  
  
Madeline took note of Nikita's appearance, and sought to shorten her visit. "One last thing, Nikita. I wanted to thank you for what you did for my mother."  
  
Nikita's immediate look of pity nearly made Madeline weep.  
  
"I am so sorry, Madeline. I hope you got to see her before she died." Nikita's voice was gentle.  
  
"Yes, I did." Madeline smiled, remembering. "She died peacefully, in her sleep. But not before she said my name."  
  
The last sounded as if it had been a significant thing to have happened, but Nikita didn't want to pry. "I'm glad, Madeline."  
  
"Get some rest." Madeline finished, getting to her feet. "Your reports are stacking up, and Birkoff is grumbling."  
  
The two women exchanged genuine smiles before Madeline turned and left the room.  
  
* * * "I heard they were letting you go."  
  
Nikita's head turned abruptly at the soft tone of Michael's voice.  
  
"Michael." She smiled at him.  
  
The doctor, who had been working on the cast on her left arm, finished his work. "I'll need to see you in here next week, to check on this. We might even have to do a little more surgery. No lifting, fighting or shooting anybody with this hand in the near future-you hear?" He teased as he got up to leave.  
  
Nikita grinned. "I promise. Girl Scout's honor."  
  
Nikita gestured to the nearby chair, in which Michael obediently seated himself.  
  
"How did it go at the Agency?" Nikita asked.  
  
"Fine." Michael said taking a deep breath of relief. At least Nikita was still speaking to him.  
  
"How are you doing?" His eyes looked her up and down.  
  
"The arm's still a little sore, but overall, I'm fine. Was on my way home, as a matter of fact." She said lightly.  
  
"I know. I came to drive you."  
  
"Good." She slipped off the corner of the bed and stood by it. "Is it still cold outside?"  
  
"I brought your coat," he replied.  
  
For the first time, she noticed he was holding it in his lap. He stood and carefully maneuvered the sleeve over her cast, then her other arm, and finally buttoned it closed for her. "Ready?"  
  
* * *  
  
Michael put the key into the lock of Nikita's apartment door and opened it.  
  
"Wait!" Nikita walked a few paces back and turned her face away. "Wait-I c-can't."  
  
He understood. He'd felt the same way when he had returned there after housekeeping had removed the body. From looking at the room now, they had done a commendable job of restoration. Everything was, as it was before the murder, everything except the bed. Michael had had that removed and replaced with an entirely new one. He gave her several moments before he spoke.  
  
"You must, Nikita," he said softly.  
  
"No! No you don't understand-he made me watch-" her voice broke.  
  
"If you don't, he wins." He replied gently.  
  
He was rewarded with a flash of anger in her blue eyes.  
  
She scrubbed away the tears on her cheeks with one hand.  
  
"All right." She pushed past him and stepped inside. It was a timid entrance at first. A few steps to the kitchen, then around the counter and into the living area. She stopped there, staring with fear at her bedroom stairs. Despite finding the remainder of the apartment, the same as it had been before the murder, she couldn't bear to look at her bedroom.  
  
Michael followed her watching her carefully. It had been Madeline's suggestion that Michael accompany Nikita back to her apartment.  
  
"She's got to face what happened sometime, Michael. She'll get through this, with your help."  
  
Michael got Nikita's attention when he set her keys on the kitchen counter.  
  
"You're leaving?" She asked, turning towards him in a panic.  
  
"No." He began to remove his coat to further reinforce the truthfulness of his reply. Then he approached her, and carefully removed her coat as well. After he hung both up in the front closet, he gently took her hand.  
  
"Come," he said, drawing her to the stairs.  
  
She shook her head, "Please, Michael, no."  
  
"Close your eyes-trust me." He begged.  
  
'Trust me.' The two hardest words in the English language when it came to Michael. Nikita almost laughed.  
  
"Please?" He gazed at her with heart-stopping openness in his gray-green eyes. It reminded her of those few days he had been wholly hers, and no one else's--Perez's experiment gone awry.  
  
"All right." She closed her eyes and let him guide her up the steps.  
  
"Open your eyes," Michael stepped around behind her and slipped one arm around her waist-to give her support or prevent her escape? Nikita wondered, even as she did as he asked.  
  
She gasped at the room transformed into a bower for lovers, or at very least a fairy-tale Sleeping Beauty. Tiny scented candles, seemingly hundreds of them, were sprinkled around the room, on the tables, suspended from the ceiling, and on slender, graceful stands in all four corners.  
  
Her simple bed had been replaced with a sleigh bed, with ivory satin sheets, and several expensive-looking, lace-embroidered pillows. A single pink rose lay atop the sheets.  
  
"You did this?" She asked at last, sounding uncertain.  
  
"Yes. But, you don't like it," He decided, sadly.  
  
"No-I mean, it's beautiful-it's just so. . . " How could she tell him? It looked so innocent and pure. It was idealism personified. But Nikita wasn't a princess out of a fairy tale. It worried her to be placed so high upon a pedestal.  
  
She turned in his arms and took his face in her right hand. "Satin sheets?" she asked, mischievously. "I do hope you're trying to seduce me, Michael." It had been the wrong thing to say. Nikita watched as Michael's expression shuttered over into blankness. She felt him withdraw from her, even though he never moved an inch.  
  
"Michael!" She tried to make amends and quickly kissed his mouth. He stood there unmoving, watching her with pain-filled eyes.  
  
Nikita sighed raggedly and went to sit on the side of the beautiful bed. "We always seem to hurt each other, and never mean it." She started to cry. "I know you meant well, Michael, but this, all of this, is for an innocent-someone pure and untouched-and that's not me. I'm-I'm just plain old Nikita, nothing special."  
  
Her dark knight approached the bed and took her weeping face in his hands. "It's how I see you-how I've always seen you, Ni-ki-ta."  
  
"But it's not real, Michael."  
  
"What I feel for you, is as real as I've ever known."  
  
He kissed her. It began as a reverent caress of lips upon lips, as he gently folded her back against the bed, then grew into a lush, passionate exploration of her mouth.  
  
Nikita returned his kiss with escalating passion, then lifted her hand to pull him closer and groaned in pain.  
  
Michael pulled away, greatly concerned, "Did I hurt you?"  
  
"Ow! Ow! No, you didn't," she replied, comically, "I hurt me." She laughed. "It's this stupid arm. That's all. Help me up."  
  
He carefully helped her to sit up.  
  
The lost expression on his face made her smile tenderly. "Oh, Michael, I'm such a klutz in this thing." She gingerly lifted her arm, heavy with the cast. "I can hardly move." "Then don't," he replied with a ghost of a smile.  
  
"Don't what?"  
  
"Move," He gently lowered her onto the bed again.  
  
"But, I need to get undressed and take a shower and. . ."  
  
"Shhh, I know what you need." He reached down and took off her shoes, then slowly, carefully began to undress her.  
  
When he removed her blouse, he frowned at the bruising and the small incisions where the doctor's had removed the bullet fragments.  
  
"Does it hurt?" He asked, feathering a kiss against her belly.  
  
"No, not really," She smiled, running her fingers through his hair as he leaned down.  
  
Michael squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head against her breast for a moment. The sight of her injuries hurt him to the core. But it could have been so much worse. The memory of the violent murder in this very room made him physically shudder.  
  
"Michael?" Nikita seemed to sense something was amiss.  
  
He kissed her to reassure her, then scooped her up and carried her into the bathroom.  
  
Nikita sat amused at the necessity of wrapping her cast in plastic wrap. Michael had thought of everything.  
  
"Okay?" he asked, having taped the wrap in place.  
  
"Yeah, only one more thing." Nikita said with a smile. "What?"  
  
"This," She reached over with her good hand and tugged at his shirt. "Off" she ordered playfully.  
  
He regarded her doubtfully. To which she asked, "You are going to scrub my back, aren't you?"  
  
"Of course, but. . . "  
  
"But nothing, Michael." She said, curling her good arm around his neck and pulling him into a kiss.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you," he said softly, after she finished.  
  
"You won't. Come on! Off!"  
  
He sighed and pulled the black T-shirt over his head.  
  
"And the rest of it." She ordered sweetly.  
  
"Ni-ki-ta," He started to argue. As much as he wanted her, Michael worried about her injuries. "Mi-chael!" She retorted, mimicking his tone of voice. She reached over with one hand and unbuckled his belt, then slipped her hand inside the waistband of his jeans. She felt him tremble as her hand caressed the hot, hardened length of him.  
  
"Nikita, your arm. . ." His eyes clamped shut at the intense pleasure her touch engendered.  
  
"Is just fine," she whispered, leaning into him. "Kiss me."  
  
He did as she commanded, devouring her mouth, as she pushed his jeans past his hips.  
  
"Oh, God," Michael murmured softly into her ear, as Nikita pressed her softness against him. The hot water enfolded them as they embraced and kissed.  
  
Nikita stood on her toes and took him between her thighs. She writhed against him gently, back and forth until he groaned and cupped her bottom tightly in his hands. The soap and hot water made her skin feel like satin beneath his touch.  
  
"Please," Nikita begged, "I want you Michael, please." She lifted her leg and allowed him to catch and hold it over his hip. With a shudder of relief, she took the length of him inside.  
  
"Tell me if I hurt you," he whispered hoarsely in her ear, holding her close. "I don't want to hurt you."  
  
"You'll only hurt me, if you stop," she murmured as he rocked forcefully into her. "Oh God, Michael-don't stop!"  
  
He teased her a bit, with slow strokes, in and out, until she became frantic.  
  
"Michael, please, oh please!" She begged, nearly faint from want.  
  
"Oui, m'amour," He whispered against her throat. He pressed her against the tile wall and buried himself to the hilt inside her.  
  
"More," Nikita pleaded. "Oh Michael. . . "  
  
Faster. Deeper. Michael pushed inside her until he felt her go rigid in his arms. He held her tightly, savoring the feel of her body's joy enclosing his own.  
  
"I love you, Ni-ki-ta," he whispered, as she relaxed against him. "J'taime." * * * "Michael," Nikita whispered sleepily in his arms, amid the satin sheets.  
  
"Shhhh, go to sleep now." Michael hugged her close and stroked her hair. "You need to rest."  
  
"Sorry, I slapped you. Wasn't your fault. . . " Green eyes burned with guilty tears, "Shhhh. It doesn't matter."  
  
* * *  
  
"They're together?" Operations growled.  
  
"Yes." Madeline answered. "It was my suggestion."  
  
"What?"  
  
"At the moment, they need each other. I though it prudent to allow them some time together."  
  
Operations gave a huff of disgust.  
  
Madeline smiled, and approached him. "Sometimes, it's best to not fight mother-nature. By the way, I never thanked you."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For saving my mother." She kissed him gently on the mouth.  
  
Operations smiled boyishly, and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. "Perhaps you're right."  
  
He kissed her back, and then added, "Oh, yes indeed!"  
  
THE END 


End file.
